The girl with the red hair tossed her curls and turned back to the bar. The married ones were the most fun. Their reluctance before, their guilt afterwards, made them more exciting. But what matter. There were plenty more fish in the sea…
He had seen it in her eyes. Her love for him had been total. Complete. With a careless, meaningless flirtation, he had destroyed everything.
He stood outside in the wind, staring round as the swinging door closed and cut off the smoky lamplight leaving him in the dark. And then he saw her running towards the bridge and in a flash he knew what she was going to do.
He saw the swirling white of her petticoats below her coat as she ran towards the bridge, even as he heard faintly the hollow rumble of the train as it started across the viaduct in the distance, puffing purposefully towards the station.
Chloe stopped halfway down the steps, clutching the rail with both hands. Her briefcase fell, teetered beside her for a moment on the step, began to rock and slowly slid out of sight. She did not notice it had gone. She too now, could hear the train wheels rattling hollowly in the distance.
‘No,’ she whispered. ‘No.’
Suddenly the footsteps were behind her, running. Clenching her teeth against a rising scream Chloe forced herself to take another step down. She could hear the train getting closer, the clackety-clack of the wheels on solid ground now, the sound of the steam coming in powerful rapid gusts.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs she stood for a moment staring round into the dark. The platform was lit by one faint lamp near the small entrance, beyond which lay the car park. She felt the ground beneath her feet shake as the train drew in with screaming brakes.
Clapping her hands over her ears she stared at it in horror. The windows were welcoming, warm behind her. The train seemed empty. She heard a single door bang. Then silently it began to draw away from the platform. Under the tall fluorescent lights she could see it clearly now. An ordinary four-carriage train. There was no engine. Certainly no steam engine.
Behind her she could hear the footsteps again. ‘I’m going mad!’ She groped at her feet for her briefcase, swung it up and turned towards the entrance.
‘Hello there!’ The cheerful voice from the top of the flight stopped her dead. ‘I didn’t see you on the train. How was your day in London?’ He was running down towards her now. Miles Rowton, his own briefcase grasped firmly in his left hand, his right lightly skimming the handrail. At the bottom he stopped and she saw his cheerful smile turn to a look of concern.
‘I say, are you all right? You didn’t fall?’ His hand was on her arm. ‘What’s wrong? Can I do anything?’
Numbly Chloe shook her head. ‘It’s so silly,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know. I don’t know what happened…’
She stared at him, her eyes on his for several seconds as though trying to convince herself that he was real, then reluctantly she looked back up at the bridge. ‘She was running. I was sure she was going to throw herself in front of the train… I could hear her – hear him – following. I heard the train braking.’
His arm was round her shoulders now, supporting and consoling, his own briefcase beside hers on the wet ground. ‘Mrs Denver – Chloe – what are you talking about? There’s no one there. Look for yourself. The platform is empty. The train has gone. No one is hurt.’
‘Are you sure?’ Confused, she was clinging to him.
‘I’m sure.’ He rather liked her helplessness. Always when he had seen her before, in the distance, she had seemed so calmly confident, so much in total control of herself he had felt a little in awe of her.
A similar thought had obviously occurred to her. He could feel her self-consciousness returning as she realised she was standing on the platform more or less in the arms of a man she hardly knew. She stiffened and then slowly she pushed him away.
‘I’m… I’m sorry. I must have imagined it. I don’t quite know what happened.’
He smiled down at her. ‘One’s eyes and ears sometimes play tricks when one is tired, especially in the dark like this. Let me walk with you to your car.’ He had let go of her arm when she pushed him away, so now he stooped and picked up both their cases. Sensing that she was just about enough recovered to object he moved ahead of her under the small 1970s ugly brick entrance arch and out into the car park where his car was parked next to hers.
When they reached the cars she stopped and stared at the dark silhouette of the deserted hotel. ‘When did this place close down, do you know?’
He followed her gaze and shrugged. ‘A long time ago, judging by the shape it’s in.’
She did not tell him she had seen it with lights pouring out of the open door, that she had heard music from one of the bars as the wind carried the noise of talk and laughter up to her on the bridge.
With a smile at him and a few polite words of thanks she climbed into her car and let him close the door on her as with a hand which she found was shaking slightly she inserted the key in the ignition and switched it on. As the headlights came on, illuminating the ruined building behind its wire fence, the sleeping pigeons on the roof moved restlessly, complaining quietly to themselves before settling once more to their roost.
She gripped the wheel and closed her eyes. When she opened them again his car was drawing backwards away from her. With a small polite toot on his horn he swung the car away and in a moment he had gone, his red tail lights vanishing into the lane.
‘Mary.’ She murmured the name as she peered at the dark, gaping windows. ‘What happened?’
There was no answer. As she engaged the reverse gear, her eyes were still on the broken windows and sagging door and it was slowly and almost reluctantly that she pulled away and turned out into the lane herself.
The cats were surprisingly forgiving. Perhaps sensing something of her melancholy they settled down, after wolfing down their supper, one on either side of her, as she sat curled up on the sofa in front of the open fire.
She sipped at her mug of coffee staring at the glowing logs.
The man’s anguished voice echoed in her ears and she shivered as she stared down at the heap of papers and sketches on the floor beside her. She had two reports to read and a whole heap of notes which should be written up before tomorrow. When, by rights, she should go up to town again. She sighed, one hand playing gently with a pair of silky pointed ears.
The sound of the phone made her jump. She reached for it over the arm of the sofa carefully, anxious not to upset feline equilibrium.
‘Mrs Denver? Chloe? It’s Miles Rowton. Forgive me. I just wanted to make sure you had got home safely. I felt very guilty after I left you that I hadn’t offered to drive you – ’
‘Don’t be silly.’ Her voice was sharper than she intended. ‘I’m perfectly all right.’ The cat beside her stood up, stretched, and curled round more comfortably. It knew about telephones. People sat satisfactorily still for hours once they had a receiver in their hand. Chloe smiled to herself, understanding its body language. How wrong it was on this occasion. ‘I’m sorry. That sounds so ungrateful.’ Her voice had softened. ‘I’m not sure what happened to me. As you said, probably tiredness and too late at work. I started hearing voices, of all things!’
‘I thought for a moment I must be going mad, and then I suppose I slipped on those stairs – ’
‘They are slippery.’ He paused, not knowing quite how to continue the conversation. ‘Well, if you are sure you’re all right – ’
‘I am.’ She hesitated. ‘Thank you, Miles. I appreciate you phoning. It is a bit bleak coming back here on my own sometimes.’ She needn’t have said that. ‘Particularly if one has reason to doubt one’s sanity.’ The lightness of her laugh reassured him.
‘I’m sure you’re perfectly sane,’ he said gallantly. ‘But look, if you are worried at all, or you need anything, don’t hesitate to give me a ring. I didn’t realise that you were on your own.’ Liar. The whole village gossiped about Chloe Denver whose husband had run off with another woman. They all liked her well enough, and were sorry for her in
